


And We May Never Meet Again (or, Coming Full Circle)

by fits_in_frames



Series: Throw Your Arms Around Me [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-11
Updated: 2007-08-11
Packaged: 2018-01-21 16:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1556138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two days since they exorcised the demon from Sam's body at Bobby's, and Dean still can't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And We May Never Meet Again (or, Coming Full Circle)

**Author's Note:**

> _and we may never meet again_  
>  _so shed your skin, let's get started_  
>  {hunters and collectors (via eddie vedder) // throw your arms around me}  
> 
> 
> Coda to "Born Under a Bad Sign".

It's been two days since they exorcised the demon from Sam's body at Bobby's, and Dean still can't sleep. He's starting to wonder if Sam's deep breathing from the next bed is just an act too, when Sam says, into the dark motel room, "Dean, you awake?"

He rolls over, curls his legs in. "Yeah," he says, "yeah, I'm awake."

"Can I tell you something?"

Dean turns on the light between their beds. Sam looks very small, somehow. "Yeah, of course," Dean says, swinging his feet down and rubbing his eyes.

"You won't call me a girl or anything?" There's a quaver in Sam's voice that reminds him vaguely of a trapped animal.

"Depends," he says, but doesn't really mean it. He waits a beat for Sam to say something, but he doesn't. "Seriously, Sam, what's up?"

"I'm scared."

Dean snaps his head up and suddenly wishes he'd never turned on the light: Sam looks like he's about five years old and Dean wants, very badly, to stand up and walk away--take a shower or drive around the town for two hours--but the magnet in his belly that keeps him with Sam is too strong, so he just says, "I know."

Sam shifts his weight and curls up on his side.

"But you don't have to be, okay? I'm--"

"I swear to God, Dean, if you say you're going to protect me, I will kick you in the balls." His voice still sounds very young, and he pulls the motel blanket up to his chin.

Dean bites back a thousand comments that he could make and forces them into a lump in his throat which he tries, unsuccessfully, to swallow away. "Well," he says softly, "you know it's true anyway." He clicks off the light and gets back under the covers, facing away from Sam.

After a few minutes, just enough time for Dean to find the most comfortable spot on the hard pillow, Sam says, "Dean?"

Without moving, Dean grunts, "Mmm?"

"Can I--" Sam clears his throat, continues in a whisper. "Can I sleep in your bed?"

"If you can fit," Dean says, too tired to argue, "be my guest."

And then there's a rustling of stiff fabric and a smooth _thud_ of feet on the floor and then Sam is slipping into Dean's bed and _well fuck_ , he hadn't planned on that.

Sam presses himself against Dean's back and lazily wraps his arms around Dean's waist. If he were anyone else--or, in fact, if this were any other night--Dean would literally kick him out of the bed so fast neither of them would know what hit them. But, he reasons, this is his brother, this is _Sam_ , who has been to hell and back in a quite literal sense in the last week, and who is probably the only reason his life is still worth living. After a few minutes, Sam's chest rises and falls in a slow, comforting rhythm against his back and his breath comes in consequent little warm puffs on his neck, and Dean closes his eyes for what feels like the first time in months.

When he wakes up, hours later, there are still arms around his waist and legs tangled with his. He almost forgets that it's Sam, but then he feels the strong hands linked over his belly, and he doesn't reach for his gun. He turns himself around, still encircled by Sam's arms, and Sam stirs. Dean snakes one of his hands up, and touches Sam's cheek with his fingertips.

"Mmm," Sam says sleepily, opening his eyes just a crack, "hey Jessi."

"Not Jessi," Dean whispers, willing his voice not to fail him, tracing the pattern of Sam's moles with his index finger. "It's me. It's Dean."

"Oh," Sam says, and inhales deeply, shakes his head slightly. He suddenly realizes where he is, and his eyes go wide. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know," Dean says, tapping out little Morse code signals Dad taught him once on Sam's cheekbone. He shifts a little closer to Sam. Their legs clash together and he holds his hand against Sam's jawbone.

Sam pulls away and just looks at him for a moment before he speaks. "Dean. What the hell are you doing?"

Dean rubs his thumb over Sam's cheek. He hasn't shaved in two days. Neither has Dean. "I don't know," he says again.

"Dean," Sam says, pushing him away with a hand on his chest, "you're freaking me out."

Without even thinking, he grabs Sam's shirt and pulls him close. Sam looks at him with the most confused expression Dean's ever seen: a mixture of weirded out, intrigued and half-asleep. He's suddenly overcome with loneliness despite the close quarters. He looks Sammy straight in the eye and whispers, "Don't you ever fucking leave me again."

After a few moments of stillness, Sam wedges one arm under Dean's side and puts the other hand on the nape of Dean's neck, and lets Dean bury his head in the space between his chin and his chest. Sam's hands are warm and gentle, but before Dean can even register feeling safe (it's been so long that he's not even sure that was it), Sam is sorting out his legs and getting out of the bed.

"Dean," he says, leaning over and absently dragging his fingertips as he lets go of the blanket, "go back to sleep." And then Sam's in his own bed, curled up, facing away from Dean, and all Dean is left with is a Sam-shaped indent in his mattress and something indeterminate and very important under his tongue.

(He doesn't fall back asleep.)


End file.
